A little short story, kinda out there, kinda incest-y. If it's not your thing please click away. All characters are +18. Let me know if you want a continuation!
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"Run.me3.a bath baby6" a text message read. From Dad. Sent at 2:14 AM. Saturday.
The list of things I didn't like about my dad was endless, but this text managed to perfectly encompass my biggest pet peeves: calling me baby, coming home late, and, despite his usual obsessive grammar policing, making these silly typos. I hated them because they all entailed one thing--that he was drunk. A night out with the boys, got wasted, and now he wants me to run him a bath. That could only mean one thing too--he'd be back soon.
It happened so frequently it was practically routine. He comes home around midnight--if he successfully manages to put the key in the lock--strips his clothes and makes a mess, has his little bath, and watches porn in the living room until he passes out on the couch. It was unrelenting chaos disturbing my sleep, be it rummaging through the fridge butt naked or blasting Brazzers on the flat screen TV. Then again I should count my blessings, if mom hadn't walked out on him, he'd probably spend the night fucking her brains out, and trust me, that's loud, so it could always be worse. However, by some strange miracle, any trace of his midnight mayhem was usually gone by the time I wake up. Regardless, I do my best to avoid him when he staggers in.
Of course it's not that I'm up so late waiting on him, and he knows this. Otherwise he wouldn't send a plain text telling me to fix his old man a bath. Unlike him, I had the courtesy to have my little jerk off session when he wasn't around, and god knows it's one hell of an ordeal. Being closeted for the most part left me channeling all my sexual frustration at home by myself, in fact I didn't know any gay guys to have fun with at all. Some would probably consider my sex drive concerning, but I felt fine. Maybe a sore wrist for a day or two, but then again what 20-year-old today wasn't a porn addict that masturbated multiple times a day. To be completely honest, I "outgrew" my hands around junior year, and ever since sought out different ways to get off. Today I'd consider myself a sex toy connoisseur, from flesh lights to beads to vibrators, I'd seen it all--had it all.
However, ironically enough, that which was my most fulfilling outlet was also my biggest curse, and it somehow all started with my dad. It began around the time when mom bailed. Despite his great physique and handsome looks, dad never really got out there again after the fact, and in turn didn't get any. Probably having grown complacent in his marriage, he just wasn't used to the dating scene--still isn't, especially considering he's in his late 50s.
Thinking about my dad's sexual needs was something that I'd never have thought would be on my mind, yet it happened that fateful day. An after-school nap turned into a day's worth of slumber, and upon waking up at around 8PM I found the house empty, in the dark. Dazed, I stumbled into the hallway looking for signs of life, and there it was--his bedroom door ajar. A faint light coming from the room. About halfway through, I heard sounds that made it clear even then that I better stay away, but where would the fun in that be? The closer I got, the more distinct the noise became. I was no fool though, and had been familiar enough with porn to realise that he had company. Albeit quiet company. He was the only one grunting and moaning.
You're probably thinking, what kind of sick weirdo spies on the dad having sex? Truth be told, the situation was too exciting not to indulge in. I had heard him having sex with mom before, but this was my first head-on experience--to see my dad in action. As much as I hated him, he was a stunner, and judging from my mom's in-heat howling, he wasn't half bad in bed either. Now I had the chance to witness his skills.
"I'm just curious. That's all." I convinced myself. "There's nothing wrong with that."
